


A Long Apprenticeship

by kemartin2009



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemartin2009/pseuds/kemartin2009
Summary: Hermione Granger and Serverus Snape once shared a night in a bubble universe, but then Snape cut all ties. Years later, he reluctantly accepts Hermione as his apprentice. Everything goes horribly wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dark Land](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/383474) by Tegan. 



> This story is a "what happens next" to a fic I read ages ago. Major thank you to the users who found it for me when I didn't know the name or where I'd read it (details below)! I loved that story and this started as my own little epilogue. It refers to the original from time to time, but I've filled in all the relevant details. 
> 
> This story is complete. Rating for final chapters.
> 
> Thanks to user car04 and indigoace, the original fic can be found here:
> 
> http://www.themasque.net/wiktt/efiction/viewuser.php?uid=10
> 
> it has 2 parts .  
> part 1: Dark Land  
> part 2: Echoes  
> Both are the uncensored,  
> or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/847275/1/Dark-Land

Hermione stood in front of the small, charming cottage wondering if Minerva had directed her to the correct place. With white walls and vibrant green door, its paint artfully weathered from the sea air and flanked by roses, lilies, and lavender to either side, the cottage was not what she expected from the isolated hideaway of one of the war’s most contentious figures. 

Years of independent study and months of solo clandestine searching had gotten her only as far as “overseas” according to one ministry file. A little over a week ago, she had finally relented and sought help. She went to the wisest person she knew, and, of course, Minerva had come through for her. 

Hermione was dithering, she knew, reflecting on the work it had taken to get here. Minerva would not have led her astray. Idyllic as the cottage was, Severus Snape had to be in there. She was certainly in the correct place. She was simply suffering from acute nerves. She was a Gryffindor! She was supposed to be brave. Of course, there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and she wasn’t sure quite which side this quest of hers fell on. She thought after that autumn they might have something real, but he certainly hadn’t sought her out after the trials. He knew where she was, and hadn’t come to her. It had been five years without a word. There was a very real chance he had no interest in ever seeing her again.

Hermione clutched the strap of her bag, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the waist-high wrought iron gate. She felt the buzz of his wards, and softly spoke the word "Portestas." 

When Minerva had shared Snape’s secret and given her the password, the name of the potion that, combined with an ancient artifact, had saved them from three months of confinement together in a bubble dimension, Hermione had felt hope for the first time since Voldemort had been defeated nearly three years before.   
She had used that same potion to amplify the affects of an anti-venom, saving her professor’s life after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

The path from road to cottage was long and winding, and she was certain Snape was aware of her approach. The knowledge that his eyes were likely on her made her stomach tighten into knots of anxiety, fearing another cold rejection. They hadn’t spoken for the entirety of her first go at 7th year, what little of it there was after they returned from another summer at Grimmauld Place and she, Ron, and Harry fled into the woods. Nor had he spoken to her at all in the hospital after she saved his life, though she visited him daily. Nor again when she attended every day of his six month trial and testified with both Harry and Ron on his behalf. 

He had vanished moments after being declared not guilty. 

Yet here she was, trying again to approach a man who very likely wanted nothing to do with her, who would likely have preferred to die than live with the memories of all he’d done.   
She was selfish, she knew. It was selfish to seek out a man who didn’t want to be found because of all that he meant to her, when she likely meant nothing at all to him. And that was presuming that he didn’t actively loathe her. 

The door was looming in front of her. Close up, she could see the weathered green had once been a brilliant emerald. Three years of sea air couldn’t have weathered it so effectively. She wondered who the cottage had once belonged to. 

Stealing herself for rejection, she knocked on the door. 

He must have been waiting, because the door opened nearly as soon as she lifted her hand. Hermione half expected her former professor to be wearing his traditional black robes, but he surprised her. He wore black slacks and a simple black jumper. He looked a little leaner and still pale, but not the unhealthy pallor he’d had in his last years at Hogwarts. His hair was pulled back emphasizing his cheekbones and making his face appear leaner. He looked healthier than she’d ever seen him, and more relaxed then any time save their months together in the parallel universe. 

She blinked, realizing she was staring when she saw the small smirk that twisted his lips, the only sign of emotion. 

Hermione cast about for words, but she wasn’t even sure what to call him, afraid that Professor Snape would feel too strangely formal, but Severus too intimate, a reminder of a time they never spoke of. Instead, she dodged the issue, saying,“Minerva said she’d call.”

He lifted an eyebrow, a teasing gesture. “She did.”

“Thank you for not changing the wards when you had a chance.” She’d been half afraid he would when Minerva McGonagall forewarned him of Hermione’s arrival, or that he’d make the cottage undetectable like Grimmauld Place. 

“She timed her floo well,” he said flatly. “We only just said goodbye.”

“May I come inside?”

He stood still for a long moment blocking her way, staring down at her as though he would dissect her. She met his eyes and tried to ignore the way her heart raced, at the weight of his pocket watch in her pocket. At last he stepped aside, allowing her to enter. 

As Hermione passed the threshold, she was keenly aware as she did so of how close she stood to her former professor. To distract herself, she looked around, taking note of the space. The outside of the cottage she could understand being bright and lovely. He might be renting it from someone local who cared for the building and grounds. Inside the cottage was almost shocking to her. It was decorated in every shade of green from emerald to peridot, with clean white walls keeping the colors from being too heavy. There were art and books lining the walls. It was comfortable, even homey, but somehow it all felt so very Severus, without a hint of the dungeons. 

Hermione was charmed, entirely charmed, and it took real resistance not to walk over and examine the nearest stack of books. 

“What brings you here, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, stepping behind her and closing the door. She couldn’t quite name his tone, but the question was neither warm nor cool, neither welcoming nor threatening. He almost sounded disinterested. Could he really think so little of her now? Had she misread everything? Hermione tried not to wince, not to think and remember and dwell on what had once been. 

“I thought Minerva would have told you,” Hermione said, glancing at the fireplace where her mentor had likely appeared only moments before. Hermione realized she still had her back to the man, and she wondered if he would interpret that as a sign of trust, or cowardice because she couldn’t face him. 

“Clearly, she did not,” Snape drawled.

“Of course. Right. Could I have some tea?”

“Are you stalling?”

Hermione walked back, past the staircase that likely led either to his lab or his bedroom. Possibly both. She tried not to picture what his bedroom might look like here, nor remember what it had been. Cozy, warm. A place for companionship when the rest of the world offered only isolation. 

The kitchen was small, but immaculately clean and organized, just as his lab would be. The countertops were bare, devoid of appliances, food, and knickknacks. So different from her own space. She heard his footsteps behind her and stepped aside so that he could make the tea. “Yes. Also, I’d like tea, and you brew it perfectly every time.”

“I am a Potions Master.”

He moved toward the stove, fetched his kettle, and began the process of making tea. Hermione watched him work, mesmerized by his hands and too well aware of the close quarters in his kitchen. Wondering again if her plan was great or terrible.

“That’s actually what I’m here to speak with you about.”

She watched him closely, looking for any sign of emotions, but the man had been a spy for years. There was no tightening of his shoulders or stiffening of his spine, no break in his rhythm to indicate he was listening.

“There are only four Potions Masters in England. Five if we count you. Of them, Minerva assures me that you are, by far, the best. My research proves this to be the consensus throughout Europe. I intend to become a Potions Master as well. I would like to be your apprentice.”

He was silent as he measured out tea leaves. 

“I brought the paperwork. Already stamped and ministry approved. All you need to do is set the terms and sign.”

“And spend the next three to five years of my life housing, feeding, and teaching you, of course.” His tone and words were mild, but Hermione felt them like a knife. 

“I invested my war pension,” Hermione said. She licked her lips and plowed on. “I have more than enough to cover all my expenses and pay you rent while I’m here. Or I could rent another cottage and we can waive the room and board clauses.”

“I am neither stingy nor a pauper, Miss Granger.” He set the tea cup down in front of her, as well as the bowl of sugar. Severus took his tea black, she recalled. She wondered if he had many guests. 

She spooned a small mound of sugar into her tea. “Of course.”

“Why, Miss Granger?” He said the words with such firmness, with an emphasis on her last name, the line of propriety clearly set. 

“You’re the best. I want to learn from you.” Hermione quickly set her cup down so that Severus wouldn’t notice how badly her hands were shaking.

“I know a partial truth when I hear one, Miss Granger.” He kept saying her name, over and over, drawing the line between them. “Do go on.”

She moved her hands into her lap so their trembling wouldn’t give her away. “I learned to love - potions under your tutelage.” She didn’t specify their months in the parallel dimension, isolated from the world as they tried to figure out the right combination of ingredients to create a magical catalyst and amplifier that would allow them to return home. “I learned more in three months from you than in the previous six years of lessons.” She licked her lips and continued. “You said yourself that I have a mind and creativity for the puzzle of potions crafting.” He said those words while tracing lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, but she couldn’t say that. 

Again he was silent for a long moment as he stood and withdrew a tin of biscuits from the pantry and set them on the table. He opened the tin carefully and held it to Hermione, who shook her head. He selected his favorite and put it on the napkin in front of him. 

He shook his head. “No, Miss Granger. You are too public a figure. Your presence here would draw attention to my whereabouts.”

“I have been out of the public eye for three years. I have purposefully cultivated a dull life and would be happy to maintain a low profile. I can also transfigure my features when I leave the house if you prefer.”

Severus didn’t look impressed.

“Ron and Harry know I’m seeking an apprenticeship and know not to come looking for me. They won’t draw attention. They will never come here and need not know who my master is. Minerva has given me permission to use the floo channel between here and Hogwarts and to maintain rooms there if necessary so that my coming and going doesn’t draw undue attention.”

“You have carefully anticipated my objections,” Severus said, a hint of wry humor coloring his words.

“I know you,” Hermione said quietly. 

“Ah,” Severus said, sitting back slightly in his chair.

Hermione shook her head, trying to course correct before he read too much into very few words. “Professor, I am happy to follow your lead in all things. You are the best Potions Master, and I- I am the brightest witch in my generation.”

“I have never taken on an apprentice,” His words were musing, thoughtful. 

Hermione smiled at this, “You have managed to navigate more difficult relationships.”

His face went stony, and Hermione plunged forward, trying desperately to remove her metaphorical foot from her mouth. “As a spy. For Dumbledore I mean.”

“I am well aware of what you meant, Miss Granger. I do not seek to be reminded of that time, day in and day out.” 

“Then I won’t mention it again.” Hermione was no longer sure if they were talking about his time as a spy or their time in the parallel dimension. She resolved then never to speak of either unless he brought it up. She clutched the pocket watch in her pocket, stroking the surface as she had done innumerable times before. She wouldn’t speak of that time, but she hadn’t quite given up hope. 

Snape nodded sharply. “Very well. You start tomorrow at sunrise. Rent a cottage in the town half a mile up the road- you likely saw it when you arrived. I will provide for your rent and meals and will cook, though I request that you do the shopping. You will also do dishes.”

Hermione’s features split into a broad grin and it was all she could do not to leap into his arms and hug him in her joy. She was unable to keep herself from bouncing. 

She bent down and pulled the Ministry paperwork from her bag, as well as a bottle of very nice red wine that Minerva had handed her, “just in case.”

Snape lifted his brow at the wine and Hermione explained, “I was hoping you’d agree. I felt it better to come prepared for a celebration. And if you’d said no, I could have used it to console myself as well.”

“Clever.”

“Frequently.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione left only after ensuring that Snape had, if fact, signed and dispatched the paperwork to the appropriate Ministry department. They did not open the wine- neither was ready or willing to cross that social barrier quite yet. Hermione left it for Snape to enjoy.

 

“How did it go?” Professor McGonagall asked when Hermione arrived back in her office via the floo network.

“Better than anticipated,” she said, brushing soot from her skirt. “I left him the bottle of wine. He agreed to accept my petition and even signed and delivered the paperwork.”

“Well, thank Merlin for minor miracles.” The Head Mistress sat at her desk. Her office had not changed much from Dumbledore’s days, save that more of the decoration was done in tartan and a small grey and black tabby acted as a temperamental paperweight on McGonagall’s desk. The cat batted idly at the corner of one of the papers and then started licking its paw.

“You didn’t think he would?” Hermione asked, setting her bag down and settling into one of the chairs opposite her favorite professor.

“Heavens knows. The man is a mystery to me.” Minerva McGonagall leaned over to a small cart Hermione hadn’t noticed, shielded by her desk. The older woman did not mention that her call with Severus had lasted nearly an hour, during when she went to his cottage and brow beat him until he acquiesced. “I believe this calls for a small celebration.” She pulled out a bottle of scotch and two tumblers.

“This bottle was corked by Gryffindor’s son. He was an avid distiller. Much of his stock is still housed beneath Gryffindor tower, a secret passed from Head of House to Head of House.”

“If the secret is passed between the Heads of the Houses,” Hermione asked, accepting her dram, “Why are you telling me?”

Minerva settled back, looking like a kitten who had gotten the cream. “Miss Granger, although both Albus and I taught Transfiguration when we were Head of Gryffindor, it is by no means a requirement. When you attain your Master status, I’d like you to come teach at Hogwarts.”

Hermione almost sputtered out the sip of scotch she’d taken. It was strong and peaty. She looked at her cup. “I thought Scotch wasn’t distilled until the 15th century. How old is this again?”

Minerva took a sip and pursed her lips. “Old.”

She took another sip. “Slughorn would like to retire again, but with so few Potions Masters in Britain, we lack anyone capable of taking his place. With you now in training, an excellent solution presents itself. You are quite capable of teaching now, honestly, but I imagine your apprenticeship with demand your full attention. Will you accept?”

Hermione felt nearly overcome with emotion. She was a planner. She had already laid out three different life trajectories contingent on whether or not Snape would take her on. Her end goal, of course, was teaching at Hogwarts, but she had assumed that she would need to spend years in the field proving her expertise before Minerva would even consider her. Going straight to Hogwarts accelerated her life plan by a full decade!

“Yes, yes, of course. Would I need to live in the castle?”

“A normal teacher would not, but I’m hoping you’ll become Head of House, and they must reside in the building. I really should have stepped aside when I became Head Mistress, but there are no other Gryffindors currently on faculty.”

“What about Neville?”

“He refused the post.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the giggle. “He would. He’s much happier in his garden cultivating strange plants and young minds. Not scary enough to be Head of House.”

“Indeed. You will have no trouble on that front. You were the only person in this school save myself able to keep Harry Potter in line.”

“You sell Ginny too short.”

“Fair point.”

 

Hermione slept at Hogwarts that night. She and Minerva had enjoyed enough tumblers of scotch that she’d lost count and couldn’t have Apparated even if her wanted to. Instead, she used Minerva’s floo and was on time, if bleary eyed, arriving just before dawn at Snape’s cottage.

He was awake, of course. He rarely slept more than a few hours during the night, Preferring to use the quiet hours of night to read, or brew when the lab was cooler. If he was surprised by his fireplace turning green and his new apprentice stepping out, he gave no sign.

“Good upstairs and shower immediately. The floo powder interacts poorly with a number of ingredients.”

Hermione walked up the stairs, hoping her professor hadn’t noticed that her steps were still wobbly. She desperately needed tea, but at least a shower would help. Of course, that wouldn’t get the powder out of her clothes.

She turned around, opened her mouth, and closed it again. Should she call him Professor? Severus? Neither felt right. Master was certainly out. Damn. “Sir,” she called down the stairs. Her brain caught up with her lips at last and she cursed herself for a weak-minded idiot and changed course, hoping he hadn’t heard.

“Yes?”

He’d heard, and she didn’t miss the note of annoyance in his voice.

“Is - ah- _scourgify_ sufficient to take floo powder out of knits?”

“Yes.” The “idiot” was definitely implied.

Hermione turned and went looking for the shower.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione padded back down the stairs, feeling far more like her usual self. She still had the beginnings of a headache, but that was honestly better than she expected given what she recalled of last night. How on earth had Minerva talked her into the third glass?

She found Severus in the kitchen.

“Tea is ready,” he gestured to to the counter where a pot of tea, a small jar of cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes waited. “Do not dottle.”

Hermione made her tea, one sugar and a dash of milk. She didn’t see a cup near her professor, so she poured his tea as well and set it next to him where he’d see it but it wasn’t in danger of being knocked over. She retreated back to the far side of the kitchen counter and watched him. His back was to her as he stood at the stove, and Hermione took a moment to admire the view. Her former potions professor had to be just over forty now. Despite his age, his back was still firm and well formed.

She didn’t get to enjoy the view for long, sadly. He put two eggs on a plate with bacon and toast, and handed it to her across the counter before sitting down at the small breakfast table with a plate of his own.

Hermione hadn’t expected breakfast conversation- they were both rubbish without tea. He was true to form, thank goodness, giving her time for the caffeine to hit her system.

She was nearly finished when he asked, “Have you found a place to stay?”

“Hogwarts for the moment. Minerva has helped me engage someone to make inquiries so that finding a place won’t interfere with our lessons.”

He scowled deeply and she frowned in return, trying to figure out why the scowl. Was it because Minerva was so involved in her life? Or that she was commuting to Hogwarts? Oh! “She has told the gentleman that she’s looking for a home for her niece by the seaside. There’s been no mention of me, you, or our apprenticeship. In fact, I think a muggle--”

“Enough prattling,” Snape’s scowl faded slightly and he nodded. “I do not need that incessant noise.

Snape set down his fork and looked directly at Hermione for the first time. “We will begin your apprenticeship by reviewing all common ingredients and their interactions. If we used it at Hogwarts, you will be expected to know and understand its interactions. Only when I am confident that you fully understand will you even approach a cauldron. At that point, we will review all potions we made up through your 7th year. When you can brew them perfectly, we will move on to less common ingredient interactions. I anticipate this will take at least the first six months of you apprenticeship. You will find your text books awaiting you in my library. Per our agreement, I have provided these for you.”

He didn’t say, “you are dismissed,” but the words were implied. He was finished interacting with her. Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked down at her half eaten breakfast, the bacon still mostly untouched, as well as half a piece of toast. Oh well. It wasn’t the start she expected, but at least she knew what was expected of her, more or less. And her recall was good enough that she was fairly certain she could make it through the review by three months, rather than six. She stood, scraped her plate, rinsed it, and set it aside to be washed later.


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost surprising to Hermione how quickly the days set themselves into a rhythm. She read in the morning, reviewing materials that went into far more depth on ingredient interactions than any of her books at Hogwarts had. Who knew that gillyweed and lavender could kill a person by causing the gills to develop internally?

Snape left her alone in the library in the mornings, summoning her for a brief lunch, during which he would thoroughly cross examine her. He would inevitably discover something she hadn’t yet learned, at which point he would send her back to the library in disgrace. She was lucky if she managed half her lunch before dismissal.

She continued studying through supper. Snape would assign her an essay due the next day based on what she learned. She would stagger home, write her essay, while drinking a large glass of wine, and fall into bed, asleep. She’d wake in the morning, walk back down the hill, and hand Snape her essay, which he would return by the end of breakfast, fully marked.

It was intense, insane, and exhausting. Hermione wasn’t sure if she loved or hated it. She was learning, she knew, but there was none of the interaction, none of the exploration she craved. She felt as isolated as she had in the bubble universe. The only deviation in her schedule was on Sundays and Wednesday afternoons when she did their shopping for the week.

She was right, of course. She did finish the review in three months. After a brutal lunchtime exam that lasted nearly two hours, Snape declared her ‘adequate’.

“You may have the afternoon, Miss Granger. I expect you back here for dinner.”

“Yes Sir.” She had never managed to resolve the question of what to call him, instead simply referring to him as Sir whenever the need arose to address him directly.

It was time to visit Minerva, Hermione decided as she gathered her things. It had been too long and she owned her friend a visit. She shivered and cast a warming charm on her coat as she carefully picked her steps. The weather had changed in the months that she’d been in France. Winter had come to their little seaside town, depositing snow and ice along the little road that wound along the cliffside from town to Snape’s cottage.

Hermione missed the bike she’d used in the early months, but when snow and ice settled in, she didn’t feel safe riding her bike down the hill. Even with the biting wind, at least the bike ride would have warmed her more efficiently than her spell, and gotten her home more quickly. Clouds were coming in from the west, promising another bout of snowfall before much longer. The sea was churning, white capped waives slamming into the rocky beach. To her right, the field that had been full of wild flowers was covered in a dusting of frost, making their winter stems glisten in the pale sunlight. Cold and dazed as she felt, Hermione could appreciate the view. She glanced back at her professor’s house, wondering if he ever took the time to look out the windows to see the beauty in the world around him.

The loss of attention had been a mistake. Her weight sifted on the next step, and suddenly her leg gave out beneath her. She went down hard and slid. There was a twist, and a crunch-pop feeling before her world went white with pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will vary in length - mostly they end when the scene changes dramatically, so thank you for being patient. 
> 
> This is my first fic in over a decade and first on this forum, so encouragement and patience with potential wonky format and lack of beta both much appreciated.

Hermione wasn’t usually late, and she knew dinner was promptly at six. Snape glanced at the clock, his brow furrowed. Six o’six. She was late. He couldn’t abide tardiness. Snape stirred the hearty stew one more time and then turned the gas off, setting the stasis spell.

He’d been uneasy all afternoon, a feeling pulling him outside. He’d find her, he decided. He’d walk out there, find her walking down the hill, and he’d deliver a cutting remark about her laziness. It would spur her to work harder, of course. Hermione couldn’t resist any challenge.

Hermione wouldn’t be far, so he likely didn’t need a coat. He needed to get outside. It felt like time was running out. He opened the door and reconsidered as a gust of icy wind nearly shoved him back into the house. When had it started snowing? Likely that was the hold up. She had failed to plan for the weather, of course. An unacceptable oversight. He grabbed a warm coat from his coat hook, and stormed out the door, allowing his anger at this apprentice’s tardiness to warm him.

It was difficult to see the road, with the darkness already pressing in and the coating of snow obscuring the line between coat and field. He cast _lumnos_ , holding his light up to give him any chance of seeing. He trudged up the hill, nearly sliding back down on patches of ice that had been hidden beneath the inch of snow that had accumulated. He moved quickly, nearly jogging despite the icy terrain as nerves threatened to overpower his anger. What if she had decided not to come back? What if she was ill? If the weather had kept her in, why hadn’t she sent her patronus? Damned inconsiderate of her. He would let her know exactly what he thought of her inattention, forcing him out in the snow storm. He would drag her back to his cottage. Damn ice! He though, as he slid again.

His leg met with something soft, the wrong texture to be field or road. He held up his light and looked again. A body. He’d nearly stepped on a body. Holding his light wand closer, he saw that the body was topped by a head of curls, and his heart nearly stopped.

He didn’t remember much of carrying her home. He hadn’t checked for a pulse or breath, forgoing those niceties for the need to get her somewhere he could get a good look at her.

He practically ran to his home, his brain mentally screaming the whole way, his thoughts incoherent with panic. A flick of his wrist opened his door, and a kick closed it again behind him. He stormed up the stairs to his guest bedroom and lay the snow-covered witch in the bed removing the snow and mud with a quick _scourgify_. At last, he forced himself to check for a pulse. He needed to know she was alive, but hesitated, his fingers hovering above her neck, terrified to learn she might not be. He swallowed and moved forward, finding her pulse, thready and racing, but there. He closed his eyes. He didn’t believe in a deity, but still he breathed a word of thanks.

Her lips were blue from the cold and he didn’t want to speculate how long she’d been outside. He needed to check her fingers for frost bite. Her left hand was at her side, and he cringed when he reached for it and saw the angle at which it hung, clearly broken. The fingers were blue and frigid, but nothing had necrotized.

Severus circled round the bed to easily reach her other hand. The hand was in her pocket, and he pulled it out gingerly, fearing another broken bone. He was surprised to find that she was clutching an object. Gently he pried her fingers from the frozen metal and as he did, his eyebrows rose. It was his pocket watch, the one he’d lost five years before. She’d kept it all this time.

He swallowed down the lump his his throat, cursing the emotion that momentarily paralyzed him. He needed to check her for injuries and get her warm.

As he went to remove her boot and check her toes, he saw her leg. Her saw her leg bone, the femur, protruding through the fabric of her trousers where it had earlier been hidden by her coat. He cursed himself for a fool for moving her. He didn’t have the skill to set the bone, but he could at least do a diagnostic to see how bad the damage was. He waved his wand and watched the image of her skeleton shimmer into existence six inches above her body. He winced. Leg badly broken, knee cap crushed, and a broken wrist. She was likely unconscious because of the pain, and gratefully so. To mend all but the wrist was beyond his skill level. He couldn’t take her to St. Mungo’s and be seen by the entire Wizarding World, particularly not while carrying his broken and bloody apprentice.

He snorted in disgust as the answer presented itself. He would have to pull a Lockhart. He was in the midst of brewing a restock for Hogwarts and had the Skelegrow on hand. It would serve her better than his poor mending skills. He vanished her femur and knee cap, using the diagram to help him locate and vanish all the shards before fetching the Skelegrow from his lab. He tilted her head back and massaged the potion down her throat, grateful that she reflexively swallowed.

Her lips were still blue, he realized. He needed to warm her and get her circulation moving. He couldn’t do anything on her broken leg, now flaccid and contained only by her ripped trousers.

He vanished her jacket, sending it to his coat rack and gently laid a hand on her stomach as he pondered what to do next. He withdrew his hand and placed it again. Warm. Her sweater was warm. Hermione must have placed a warming spell on her coat.

“Thank Merlin,” Severus breathed. Without it, his witch would likely have died. If he didn’t miss his guess, she’d been out there for hours. Given the snow that had accumulated on her and around her, and the rate of the snow from the storm, she’d likely been out there since he sent her home for lunch.

‘She is moving in. I should have insisted on it when we signed the bloody contract to begin with. Who had ever heard of an apprentice living so bloody far from their Master?’ He thought, ignoring the quiet voice that protested that he had insisted on separate living spaces. There was no way he would allow her to expose herself again. Absolutely not.

He warmed the blankets of the bed with a quick charm and pulled them up around her. Once he was certain she was well tucked in, he went downstairs to start brewing pain potions.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione woke up feeling surprisingly warm and excruciating pain. She gasped, but that only made it worse as the small breath slightly shifted her body.

“Drink this,” came a deep voice at her side.

She did as instructed, unable to resist the vial pressed to her lips before drifting off again.

 

Hermione didn’t know how often the scene repeated, but at some point, it started to feel familiar, the cycle of consciousness, pain, and oblivion.

 

She opened her eyes, braced for the excruciating pain, only to find something more manageable. It still hurt, but not so badly as before. Opening her eyes, she blinked quickly against the light of the lamp on the far side of the room. It was dark, but she could make out the figure in a chair a few feet from the bed.

“Sir?” She asked quietly.

“I have a name,” came the grumbled reply.

“Professor Snape?” Hermione asked, trying to make the man come into focus.

“If you were to address me properly, it would be Master Snape, but that was not the name I referred to.

“Sir?” Hermione asked weakly. She was so tired, and he wasn’t making any sense.

“Say. My. Name,” he ground out, enunciating each slow word.

“Severus.” She could hear his exhale, the affect that a single word had on him. “What happened?”

“I owed you a life debt. Did you know that, Hermione? For the anti-venom. We are even.”

Pain spiked through her again and she cried out, “It hurts.”

“Take the pain potion,” He leaned forward, pressing the vial to her lips.”

Hermione drank.

 

“It’s been four days, Minerva. She only achieved consciousness for a few moments. I know I brewed the potion correctly.”

“Severus, I’m not a healer.”

“I am well aware. I need you to summon Poppy.”

He watched the witch’s eyebrows raise on her image in the floo. It was rare that he was willing to expose himself to another, but he needed an healer. Hermione should be up and moving by now. His witch wasn’t healing fast enough.

“You’re sure?”

“Do I look like I’m suddenly going to change my mind?” He asked, voice droll.

Minerva didn’t respond. Her image vanished, but the fire remained green. A few minutes later, she reappeared, the stout medi-witch at her side. Severus stepped back, allowing them space to enter.

When the women finished dusting themselves off, he briefly explained the situation to Poppy, and was impressed that she looked neither shocked nor concerned that he’d taken on not only an apprentice, but Hermione Granger.

“Where is she?” Poppy asked, all business.

“Second bedroom on the right,” Severus said, gesturing up the stairs. He quickly led the way. “Why isn’t the potion working?” He demanded.

“I haven’t seen Ms. Granger yet,” Poppy snapped back. “It could be any number of things. Kindly stop hovering at my elbow and go make yourself useful. I like my tea with two lumps of sugar.” Severus opened his mouth to protest that he would absolutely NOT leave this woman alone when Minerva shot him a look and firmly shook her head.

He scowled at both witches and stalked out of the room.

 

He was not prepared for murderous looks both women were glaring at him when he stepped back into the room with a tea tray. He looked at Hermione, but she appeared to still be unconscious in the bed.

He set the tray down on a side table and met their eyes.

“Severus Snape,” Poppy snapped, “Why is Ms. Granger half starved?”

That was not a question he’d been expecting. “What do you mean, you daft bat?” He snapped back.

“I mean that I was Ms. Granger’s primary medical provider for nearly eight years, and she weighs nearly a stone less now than when she graduated from Hogwarts, and that includes the year she spent in the woods and scrounging for food. The girl did NOT have a stone to loose. She is emaciated.”

“I’m not responsible—“ he broke off. Technically he was responsible. In the contract, he became responsible for her meals. For the last three months, he had provided her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He closed his eyes, remembering and cursing himself. Breakfast was assignments and dismissal, lunch was examinations, dinner the essay. At each meal, he would dismiss her when he no longer needed her.

He’d been protecting himself. Ensuring they had no leisure time together. But she rarely finished what was on her plate.

“You are precisely responsible. Skelegrow needs resources. It’s reconstituting a major bone, and it’s trying to cannibalize her body’s few available resources to do so. And let me guess— rather than providing her any nourishment, you’ve just been feeding the poor chit pain potions?”

Severus said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

“Get out of my sight,” Poppy spat. “Do something useful. At this point, you’re lucky your apprentice still has hair and teeth.”

 

He knew what he needed to do. She was right of course. Now that she had said it, it was obvious. Some incredible intellect he possessed. He went to his lab, pulled out his cauldron, and started to brew. He could hear the witches upstairs stomping around his house. That was fine, he told himself firmly, ignoring the way the idea of others in his house made his skin crawl. He had work to do.

 

When he returned upstairs hours later with the first batch of potions in hand, Poppy was gone. Minerva sat at his kitchen table, drinking tea from Hermione’s cup.

Severus lined the potions up on the table.

Minerva opened her mouth, but Severus held up a now empty hand. “I am aware of how thoroughly I have,” he pursed his lips, searching for the word, “fucked this up. I do not need to be reminded again.” He gave her is most sever glare in hopes that it would silence the witch. Sadly, Minerva was immune.

“Do you, Severus?” Minerva asked. “Hermione saved your life and spoke at your trial- you know both of these facts, of course.” Severus nodded because Minerva seemed to expect him to do so.

“She also spearheaded the effort that granted you a trail in the first place, and guarded your hospital bed singlehandedly, saving you from not one but two misguided auror attacks before Harry joined her in guard duty, She was the brains, and Harry the voice that gave you a future. They forced the world to acknowledge your efforts, and knowing they would receive nothing but scorn in repayment. And now this. You are very lucky that Harry is not here knocking on your door.”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed, glancing at the door as though the odious auror could arrive at any time. “I am not unaware of what Ms. Granger has done for me. I took her as my apprentice, did I not?”

Minerva poured herself another cup of tea from the pot on the table. “She is well within her rights to petition the ministry for a release of contract, and with Poppy and I as her witnesses, she will succeed. Is that what you hoped to accomplish?”

Severus stiffened, resuming his glare at the witch as he meticulously realigned the potion vials. “Of course not! If I didn’t want the girl as my apprentice, I’d have told her outright.”

“Then why, Severus?” He voice was tired, sad. If he didn’t miss his guess, disappointment colored her tone. “You were a spy for nearly two decades. You are not unobservant, and yet you watched her waste away every day. You made a frankly stupid error that could have cost the girl her life.You weren’t trying to kill her— if we were, you wouldn’t have called Poppy.”

Severus frowned. “It was an oversight.”

“Adding too much yarrow root to your calming tea is an oversight.”

“I did not add too much yarrow root.”

“No, the tea is perfect. That is my point, Severus. You are meticulous.”

Severus pulled his hands quickly from the vials he was still aligning. He closed his eyes and pushed the heals of his hands against them, wishing he could remove this whole sordid scene. He knew he was practically obsessive about so many details of his life. Yet he’d missed something crucial, vital, about the person he was morally and legally dedicated to protect.

He took his usual seat at the table, then stood again and crossed to the kitchen, pulling his mug from the cabinet. He slowly poured himself a cup and inhaled deeply. The tea was perfect.

“Quit stalling.”

“How well do you know Miss Granger, Minerva? Yes, I know you were her Head of House, but since the war? She engaged your help in finding her cottage, yes?”

“Yes. We are close, Severus. Albus and I, we chose not to have children. Hermione and Harry have mutually decided to help fill that role for me in the last few years. Before her apprenticeship, she stopped by for tea or a drink every week. Did you know, they now invite me to the Borrow for Christmas? I decline, of course, so Harry and Hermione always come for Christmas dinner. I’ve asked her to teach when you are done training her.”

“I see.”

“I worried. She declined two invitations. I don’t normally need to extend invitations.”

“I gave her one afternoon off.”

“Each week?”

“Four days ago.”

“Severus!”

“I told you,” he scowled, “I made a mistake. Now be quiet. You are close. Do you know what happened her last year at Hogwarts?”

“The hunt for the horcruxes and the war?”

“No, before that. Never mind. I can see that you don’t. Miss Granger, Hermione, and I were trapped by death eaters in an alternate dimension. It was Hogwarts, but we were the only people there. We trapped alone for three months.” He closed his eyes, allowing the memory of that time to fully wash over him. He had tried for so long to avoid those memories, and there power now was overwhelming. “Shehelped me in my experiments as we sought an escape. She was brilliant, creative, of age, and more than willing. I let it go too far.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, and Severus couldn’t look at Minerva as shame chewed through his stomach. He stared into his tea cup. “She saw me. Not as a professor or a death eater, or order member, or what have you. She saw me. Wanted me. It was only once. I told her it could never happen again. It didn’t. It hasn’t.”

“While that is… illuminating, what has that to do with this?”

“If she lived in this house, it might happen again. I have… she-“ he stopped.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Minerva asked quietly.

“She is young.”

“Did you know, Severus, that before this evening, I have never taken you for a fool? An illuminating evening indeed. She is older than you were when you joined the order and started spying. Older than either of us where when we started teaching. That girl grew up in the shadow of Voldemort, survived the war and watched countless others die, navigated both a public persona and managed to cultivate a very private life. She is more mature than most witches twice her age. And don’t you dare say a word about inexperience. She gave you five whole years. You have been hiding. She has not been.”

He desperately wanted to know what Minerva met by that, but couldn’t ask.

“You still have not answered my questions. What does your time together five years ago have to do with your gross mismanagement of her apprenticeship?”

“Do I really need to spell it out?” Severus ground out.

“I think you had better.”

His voice was low when he finally answered. “When she was eighteen, I failed her. I failed to maintain the line between teacher and student. She was an innocent, and I failed her.

“And now, in my effort not to make the same mistake, I failed her again. Differently, but just as gravely. Perhaps more so. I tried not to see her as a young woman, and in doing so failed to see her at all.”

Minerva’s voice was sharp when she asked, “Are you quite done with your pity party?”

Severus straightened. “I’m sorry—“

“Yes, you rather had better be. You, Severus Snape, are a colossal moron.” Minerva set down her tea cup sharply. “You are self-absorbed and myopic. She was of age, willing, and while you might technically have been in a version of the school, you were not at school and not in the role of her professor at the time of your previous liaison, yes?”

“Technically.”

“You in no way coerced her?”

“Of course not!”

“Then no crime was committed. Yet you allowed your feelings on the matter to blind you to the reality of the situation, her feelings, her efforts on your behalf, and her wellbeing. Perhaps if you managed to remove your head from your rectum and noticed that you have a brilliant apprentice who also happens to be in love with you, though Merlin knows why, you would be a better teacher.”

“I—what?”

“I am leaving. I will be checking on her regularly Severus. The girl needs one day off a week, and regular meals. See that you don’t fail to provide.”

Severus stared at the fire where Minerva had disappeared. At long last, he took a small sip of his tea and grimaced. Cold.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione woke to something thick and tasting slightly of peanut butter being poured down her throat. She sputtered, gaged, and coughed.

“Easy,” said a warm voice near by. “Easy. You need to drink.”

She blinked open her eyes, aware of pain, but no longer the excruciating pain that made oblivion a welcome friend. She took the vial and drank. It was thick and sweet, somehow a little powdery but not too unpleasant.

“What it is?” Hermione asked, handing back the empty vial.

“My own concoction. You have increased caloric needs to accommodate the Skelegrow.”

“Skelegrow? Prof—Severus—what happened?”

He pinched the bridge of his knows. Up less than two minutes, and already the girl was asking questions. ”Would you like the long or short version?”

“The accurate version,” Hermione replied.

Of course. “You slipped on ice, breaking your femur and crushing your knee cap. You also broke your wrist—likely your attempt to break your fall—and hit your head hard enough to develop a serious concussion. You then remained outside in a snowstorm for four hours until I found you, alive likely thanks only to the heating charm you cast on your coat. The breaks were beyond my ability to heal, so I removed the bones and administered Skelegrow, not realizing that you were severely underweight and your body didn’t have the resources to regrow the bones. You nearly died because the Skelegrow was overtaxing your heart and the few resources your body had available. Poppy and Minerva saved your life, again, and I have been administering highly caloric protein shakes laced with pain drought and narcotic every four hours to keep you asleep so that your body could heal without you overtaxing yourself.”

Hermione blinked. “Come again?”

“No.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” Hermione studied her professor. He wore a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and black slacks. There were dark smudges around his eyes, and his hair hung lank to his shoulders.

“Six days. You have recovered enough that Poppy deems the narcotic no longer necessary.”

“I see. I am sorry for all the trouble—“

Severus shot to his feet, looming over Hermione. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he snapped, his voice hard and angry, his nostrils flaring. “You are not the one who has failed.” He turned, and stalked from the room.

Hermione watched his back, uncertain before giving in to the lull of sleep.

 

“Why am I so tired?” Hermione asked when Severus next came with her potion. “I thought I was asleep for almost a week.”

“A narcotic induced sleep does not allow for REM sleep, which your mind needs to recover fully. And despite the potions, your body is still working quite hard to heal you. The combination means that increased sleep and waking drowsiness are inevitable.”

“Oh.” She was already out again.

 

“I’m bored,” Hermione declared. She’d been awake for nearly an hour, the longest such stretch since her accident.

Severus eyed her. She had slept on and off for three more days, her body continuing to recover from her injuries, hunger, and sleep deprivation. Each time she woke, Severus provided her with another protein shake and an increasing amount of food.

He weighed his options. He could read to her, or play chess, but that felt much too intimate. His lips thinned, and he said, “I will fetch your books. We have fallen quite behind schedule.”

 

He couldn’t sleep. He had hoped that after nights of sleeping in four hour shifts, he would fall into bed, but his body had somehow adjusted to these ridiculous intervals. At four in the morning, he woke, and by 4:20 he gave up the attempt to sleep. He went down to his lab to brew. Hermione’s recovery had set him well behind and the shops and apothecaries he worked for under an alias were demanding their potions.

He worked quietly in his lab, venturing upstairs every four hours when his alarm went off to bring Hermione a potion, muttering curses at the interruption each time he did, and grateful to find his apprentice asleep at each of his visits. He was tapering the pain potion, so he no longer needed to wake her to administer the potion. He simply collected the empty mugs and left the new batch.

He didn’t notice that her breathing was neither so low nor so even as it would be were she actually asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

He was surprised when he heard the creaking of his wooden floor boards a few hours later. The steps were slow, but light as Hermione made her way down the stairs. Severus put a stasis spell on his potion and rushed up the narrow staircase that connected his lab to his kitchen.

Hermione stood at the bottom of the stairwell across the room. She wore some sort of muggle trousers, tight and stretchy, but likely easy to pull on, and a chunky knit sweater, the type she’d worn to cover the affects of missed meals. The tight leggings ruined the effects, revealing how her knees were nearly broader across than her thighs. He stood rooted for a moment, shocked by the effect. He’d seen her of course, laying in her bed, far too thin. Somehow, he’d held on to the mad belief that a few days of his protein potions would put her to rights. It was mad, of course—they barely offset the Skelegrow, but he’d believed they would do the trick. He swallowed his dismay at seeing how completely wrong he’d been.

“I’ll make supper,” he said, crossing to the kitchen.

“Then I’ll take care of the tea,” Hermione said.

“You will do no such thing.”

He turned and looked at her, their eyes clashing.

“My bones have regrown. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Severus dropped his eyes meaningfully to her too thin legs.

“I hauled 45lbs of books up that damn hill so I could write your nightly essays. I can lift a bloody kettle,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“Sit. Down.” Snape bit off the words. Before she could obey or defy him, he waved his wand, filling the kettle with a wordless spell and igniting the stove beneath.

Hermione glared, but sat down.

 

They ate in silence for long moments as Severus tried to figure out what precisely was wrong with the scene.

“You’re not nattering away,” he accused, annoyance clear in his tone.

“Normally, you’d be annoyed at me for speaking,” Hermione chided.

Severus didn’t respond, knowing full well the girl was right, and even if he wasn’t actually annoyed, he’d certainly have pretended to be.

“I have nothing to say.” Hermione shrugged, taking another bite of the pasta Snape had made. It was good, cheesy, but with rosemary, tomato, sausage, and peas—a welcome change from the vaguely peanut flavor of the protein shakes.

“I highly doubt that.”

Hermione chewed, swallowed, and nodded, “Allow me to amend- I have nothing constructive to say.”

Severus lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

Hermione shook her head.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“It won’t help or accomplish anything. I’m going to eat my supper, and go to bed.”

“Hermione,” Severus said, and he was slightly embarrassed to hear the pleading in his voice. It was uncomfortable, her silence. It made him uncomfortable to watch her eat and see the way her cheekbones slashed across her cheeks, knowing it was his fault. How blind could he have been to have missed this?

Reluctantly, she set her fork down. “I was wrong,” she said quietly. “I thought that, after our time in the bubble, you had feelings for me, or, if not, you would be adult enough to handle our past maturely. I thought that if you were cruel, it would be in your usual mode—verbal barbs I can handle. Merlin knows I’m experienced.” She picked up her fork and took another bite. She had barely made a dent in her pasta, and Severus wished that he’d waited until later in the meal to challenge her. He’d have to bring her another potion. 

“I once accused Ron of having the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Hermione continued, with a strange half smile. “I thought you were mature and passionate.” The smile fell away. “I was wrong about all of it. Well, not about Ron, but everything else. You managed a level for cruelty I didn’t think you were capable of, and I cannot believe I allowed it.” Disgust curled her lip. “Now, I’m trying to decide if it is worth the black mark on my metaphorical record to sue for release from our contract, or if Poppy and Minerva breathing down your neck will keep you in line enough for me to survive the next two years.”

She stood, not looking at him. She set something metallic on the table, turned, and walked away. Severus didn’t need to look to know it was his pocket watch.

 

Severus stood, then sat down again. He stood again, taking a few steps toward the stairs before turning on his heel. He’d been too reactive through the whole situation, relying on habit and instinct to handle his apprentice so that he would be spared having to think or feel. It was time to change approach, and he knew he had very little time in which to make a difference.

If he knew Hermione, and once he had known her rather well, then she was likely upstairs recuperating from her outburst, and making a list. He needed to intercede—if he wanted to intercede—before she had a chance to finish and make up her mind. If Hermione managed to finish her list and decided she wanted to leave, there would be nothing he could do to change her mind. She was a stubborn witch.

He nearly turned back to the steps, but he forced himself to sit still. If Hermione could make a list, then so could he.

Of course, first he needed to figure out what he wanted. His life for the last five years had been quiet, calm, peaceful and relaxing. The last three months had been hell. Early mornings preparing for the day, late nights marking her detailed essays. The constant tension of expectation and failed expectations. He hadn’t slept a full night since she walked back into his life. Did he really want more of that?

_“It doesn’t have to be like that,”_ a little voice reminded him. He remembered late nights talking over essays and potions texts, testing ideas and discussing methodologies. Those days of desperation and isolation, they were the best days of his adult life. He’d ruined it, then and now, denying himself what he most desired because he was ashamed, and he believed she would forget and find someone younger, more attractive, kinder, more sensitive… all those things that he was not.

She hadn’t. She carried her feelings for him for five years, and his pocket watch was proof. He thought he’d lost it there, in that dimension. She saved him. Sought him out. Of course, he’d cocked it up. He could fight and try to actually, maybe, find happiness. And if he wasn’t successful, he could accept quiet peace and a broken heart. It was familiar territory.

He would fight for her. He would modify his teaching methods, perhaps moderate his responses somewhat. He would certainly ensure her basic needs were met. Once they were back on even footing, then… then he could pursue other matters.

Decided, he set down the quill he’d summoned and cast his notes into the fire. Writing had been and exercise to organize his thoughts, but was not necessary for retaining the information. He certainly couldn’t risk Hermione finding the document.

Severus stalked up the stairs and rapped on Hermione’s door. After an agonizing moment in which Severus had to bite his tongue to keep from sniping that he was well aware she was in there, Hermione pulled open the door. The tear stains on her cheeks made him glad he’d resisted the temptation to speak.

She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand to silence her. “I came to apologize. Again. My behavior these last months was absolutely cruel, but it was not a conscious act of cruelty so much as an unconscious and misguided act of self-preservation. I will do better. Minerva and Poppy will certainly keep me in line on the care and feeding of one’s apprentice.” He tried for a small smile, but given Hermione’s frown, was more likely a grimace. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he continued, “Do not go yet. Give me three more months. If at that time you would like to leave, you will not need to sue. I will willingly dissolve you contract.”

He paused, hoping she’d respond, but she stood silently, watching him.

He licked his lips and pulled out his last hope, his pocket watch. It had broken in their final experiment, and she had kept it, a token between them. He stroked the familiar cover, then offered it to her, palm up. She could take it, and all that he had to offer, or leave it.

She stood there for a long second, searching his face. At last, she reached out and took the pocket watch. Her eyes were weary and wary as she said, “Six months.”

She stepped back and closed the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleep seemed a long forgotten dream, as again Snape work at four in the morning with little hope of returning to sleep. He needed to prepare a hearty meal for breakfast. Quiche seemed the obvious answer.

By seven, when Hermione padded downstairs, Severus had prepared a quiche Lorraine, roasted fingerling potatoes, and he’d decided to attempt homemade bagels and was not entirely displeased with the results. She looked up at him groggily as he set a hot mug of tea and her potion before her.

“Drink,” he commanded.

She drank, starting with the potion, chasing with the tea. Severus set a laden plate in front of her. She looked at it, eyes wide. “I can’t eat all this.”

“You can. We will sit here until you do.”

“Then we will be sitting here until supper.”

“If we must.”

Hermione looked up, disgusted. “Even at Hogwarts, I could not have finished all this. The bagel, perhaps. Or the quiche, maybe. Certainly not both, and not with a half plate for of potatoes besides.”

He frowned. “We shall see.”

“No, we shan’t. I cannot eat all this.”

Severus stood, turning his back on Hermione and returned to the kitchen, using the counter that separated the kitchen from the living and dining room as a barrier between them. It needed to be said. He needed to prove that he understood, that he was not without conscience, not…reacting to her, yet the stakes this morning felt nearly as high as they did when the Dark Lord had stood before him.

He watched her carefully, drawing on his years of subterfuge as a spy to keep his expression neutral. “It was rather forcibly brought to my attention that my use of mealtimes for reviews kept you from adequately nourishing yourself. And our schedule made it not feasible for you to procure and prepare your own meals.” He stopped, frowning as though he didn’t like the taste of a particular dish. “I apologize.”

Hermione tried to keep her expression schooled, but her eyebrows rose on the last. She weighed offering a false platitude, graciously accepting his apology and tucking in, but Severus would neither believe nor accept it. She offered honesty instead. “Forcing me to eat is not an effective way of making amends, particularly as my stomach has shrunk and attempting to eat this would likely make me ill.”

He pursed his lips slightly but nodded, accepting her words. “It appears my ability to think clearly has been somewhat compromised these past months.” A shocking admission from the potions master.

“Likewise,” Hermione admitted quietly.

Severus swallowed, and Hermione watched his Adams apple bob in his throat.

“Eat what you can. When you are ready, I believe it’s time we make use of the potions lab. We will review your N.E.W.T.s potions, then move on to more advanced brewing. Let us start with the Wiggenwald Potion.”

The potion was intricate, but could easily be brewed within an hour, and Hermione did so, achieving the thick turquoise substance that indicated a textbook perfect potion.

“Excellent, Miss Granger. Tomorrow, the Draught of Living Death. We shall test the efficacy of your Wiggenwald Potion.”

 

The next morning, Hermione returned to the lab. She had hardly slept, but it didn’t impede her ability to brew the Draught of Living Death. To allay her anxiety, she’d reviewed her notes and adjusted her brewing, crushing the caterpillar as Harry had in their sixth year, and adding the clockwise turn. She glanced up as she executed the move to find Snape frowning very slightly before he caught her eye and schooled his expression into a tight smile while he nodded, “Well done.”

‘Did he know?’ She wondered, cleaning her cauldron. Harry had told her everything he’d learned in his sixth year. She knew those tweaks had been created by Severus as a student, and though she had been loathe to use his methods at the time, Hermione could not argue that his modifications had created the superior potion. Yet Snape had seen her using his methods and said nothing.

“Now, Mrs. Granger, let us test it.”

Hermione started to tremble. She’d managed to focus while brewing, but now that she was finished, she couldn’t stop, and prayed her baggy sweater would hide her as she did so.

“I will drink your Draught of Living Death,” Snape continued, seemingly unaware, “and you will administer a small dose of the Wiggenwald Potion.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She knew the story—Sleeping Beauty had been drugged with the Draught of Living Death, and her prince woke her with the Wiggenwald Potion- its first attested use- applied to his lips, at least according to the wizards. In the Muggle version, before Disney got to it, she was woken by her twins suckling, the result of the prince raping her while she slept. Hermione preferred the Wizarding version, but surely Snape didn’t require the original application.

“A teaspoon would suffice,” Snape said, answering Hermione’s unasked question.

“When we were students, you insisted we test our own work,” Hermione pointed out. She didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t. She bit her lip and studied the deep lilac potion that rested smooth as glass in her cauldron, not quite sure why she made the observation. She’d been chewing on the question all night, terrified that he would have her drink the potion. The idea of being completely in his power again created a roiling ball fear in her stomach that was the source of her trembling and no small amount of nausea.

“Hermione, how would you react now if I asked you to drink the potion?” Snape asked. Hermione couldn’t see his face, unable to look up, but she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t answer.

“Precisely,” Snape snapped. “I will take the potion. You will administer the antidote after precisely ten minutes. During that time, you will monitor and record my vitals. If my heart rate drops below twenty beats per minute, administer the antidote immediately. Three drops. If I do not awake within ten seconds, administer another three. If I still don’t awaken, the full teaspoon. If at that point, you cannot revive me, I have also brewed the antidote. It it there.” He pointed to a deep turquoise potion in a vial on his work table.

“You know how to monitor?” Snape asked.

Hermione looked up and met his eyes at last. His eyes were unbearably kind. “Of course.”

“Excellent.” Without another word, he lifted a spoon from her cauldron and drank the draught.

Hermione hadn’t expected him to crumple to the floor, and she sprang forward to catch him as his knees collapsed beneath him. Her own knees threatened to buckle under his weight, but she was able to get him laid out on the floor without his head connecting too severely with the stone.

She waved her wand in a silent spell to ensure her potion hadn’t worked too well, and summoned a notebook and quill to take notes every minute.

When Neville had killed Nagini at the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had been able to harvest enough venom to complete the anti-venom she’d prepared. She’d fled the battle even before Harry had finished his dual, praying she wasn’t too late to save her professor’s life. She’d found him then as he was now. His eyes were closed, his chest not visibly rising nor falling. Severus’s always pale features were grayish, his cheeks sunken and mouth slightly ajar. Hermione found her pulse racing as she flashed back to that night. She’d nearly been too late, had almost lost him.

Panic squeezed her heart and throat. She forced herself to breathe deeply, and do as instructed. Her own heart was racing, as though it needed to make up for his slowed pace. She wanted to tremble, cry, wake him, but knew she could not. He would check the time. If she woke him early, he would assume it was because she’d brewed the draught too strong, or worse, suspect her own weakness. She had already given him too much of that today.

She breathed, in and out, focusing on the task of recording her findings. As she did so, she realized that her reaction was not what she expected. She feared losing him. Even after the last few months, the idea of losing him terrified her.

As ten minutes approached, Hermione dipped her finger into her turquoise potion, and rubbed it liberally on her lips. She knelt beside her professor and kissed his cold lips.

He began to stir immediately, and Hermione leapt up, rubbing the remaining potion off her lips with the sleeve of her sweater. He stood, waving away her offer of help and pulled over her notebook from where it sat open on the table.

“It looks as though the potion worked as expected. Well done, Hermione.”

He did not mention the spoon, unused where he’d left it on the table, nor the slight taste of plums from the Wiggenwald potion still on his lips.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione sat at the breakfast table, facing another cream and cheese laden quiche, her glass of protein potion half finished in front of her. She sighed, resigned, and took a mouthful. Snape would fuss if she didn’t eat, but was was equally unsure which sounded less pleasant- more quiche, or another morning wasted in the lab on clearly pointless review.

“Now, Polyjuice. I believe you’re familiar.” It was nearly three months since he’d asked her to brew the Draught of Living Death, and they were nearing the end of her N.E.W.T. review.

Hermione blushed. “You knew about that?”

“I certainly know it was a required potion to achieve an ‘Outstanding’ mark on the Potions N.E.W.T. I also know that you stole both bicorn horn and boomslang skin from my stores during your second year. It was not difficult to figure out.”

Hermione managed only half her quiche. Snape frowned at her, but she shook her head. He could not force her to eat, so he put the rest in the cold box and cast a stasis spell.

She followed him down to the lab, and he pulled a second cauldron over from a shelf by the wall.

“Why the pewter cauldron rather than the copper or brass?” Severus asked.

“The copper would be better for an even heat, and the brass would be better for a potion with a higher acidity level, but for Polyjuice, you need a cauldron that is almost entirely non-reactive. Hence pewter.”

Severus nodded. “Excellent,” he said.

Hermione gave him an annoyed look. Any third year who bothered to do the reading could have answered that. She could have answered that by the end of her first year.

She began, collecting and preparing her ingredients. Hermione’s memory was virtually photographic. After her second year, she could accurately recite the instructions. After her infiltration of the ministry, she was fairly sure she could brew it before having her morning tea. Even so, she had extensively reviewed it in preparation for her N.E.W.T. There was no need for her to consult a text as she grated the bicorn horn and used her mortar and pestle to powder the boomslang skin.

The Polyjuice potion was complex and exacting, and would take days, and Hermione settled into the exercise while Snape watched her closely.

“Well done,” Snape said after Hermione had finely ground the powder and “Good,” when she carefully counted out the right number of stirs. Each time, the words fell like stones in her stomach, taking up space she ought to be using for food.

“Excellent, of course, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape said, peering at the brownish bubbling goo. His face was neutral. Perhaps even slightly pleasant.

Hermione frowned, waiting for him to continue. The potion was complete. She brewed it textbook perfectly, of course. Just as she had all the others. Just as she had in school. Snape was bland, complementary even. He didn’t even challenge her interpretation of their nightlight readings! All her essays before the incident had each had a thorough challenge, even when he entirely agreed with her premise!

Hermione ground her teeth. Her fear of him had lessened in the last months with regular meals and close living quarters, but this wasn’t what she’d wanted when she came here. Where was the passion? The collaboration? The challenge? When he didn’t continue, Hermione sat down on her stool. She bit her lip to stop it trembling as a burning started behind her eyes. She would not cry. She would NOT. She looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to hold the tears at bay and took slow, deep breaths. It was just so disappointing.

When she could at last speak, Hermione said, “I’m packing my bags. No need to cook supper.”

Snape stood up straight, his long robes seeming to billow despite the lack of airflow in his laboratory. His mouth hung slightly ajar for a second before he snapped it shut. “What did you say?” He asked, his voice perfectly controlled and smooth.

“I said I’m leaving,” Hermione said around a lump rapidly forming in her throat. “I can’t stay. Not like this.”

“Like this?” Severus mocked, his face contorting in a sneer around his sing-song imitation.

“Like this,” Hermione repeated. “I had hoped you’d get over it, that you were just giving me time. But it’s been three months. ‘Good’, ‘Excellent’? That’s rubbish!” Hermione said, gesturing at the burbling gunk. “I could brew the same potion when I was twelve! There’s nothing excellent about that. You’ve wasted both our time feeding me nothing but quiche and platitudes. And I don’t like either!

“This isn’t education. If I’d wanted self-gratification, I’d masturbate.”


	10. Chapter 10

Snape gaped like a fish. It wasn’t a good look on him, and Hermione quite enjoyed it until his lips flattened and his eyes hardened.

He inhaled deeply, silent, savoring the air and considering his words before he said, “You are right. You have proved that you can brew every N.E.W.T. Potion with textbook accuracy in all cases, save those for which you have seen some other improvement,” Snape’s eye twitched ever so slightly. “You have a distressing habit of regurgitating information rather than demonstrating reflection and consideration. Encyclopedic knowledge of ingredients and interactions is necessary, and one must be able to follow the directions. You are capable in that regard, as you have aptly demonstrated.”

He frowned at her “However, without creativity, one can never truly craft a potion. Following instructions by rote will always yield a sub-par product.” He gestured to the Polyjuice. “Given the color, I believe this potion would last three, perhaps four, hours. Merely adequate.”

“With _creativity_ a Potions Master can increase potency and longevity. With even a modicum of innovation, you could extend the duration of the potion’s effects, perhaps even doubling its efficacy. If you continue to simply follow the instructions, you will never be a Potions Master. The potions of a true Master will be unique to their creator.”

He gestured at the noxious brew. “Do it again.”

 

“You have to feel the potion, Hermione. The potion is magical not for any innate reason, but because of how we, the brewer, creates the potion.” They stood over the cauldron, Hermione peering into her textbook perfect Polyjuice with abject disappointment. They had tested the results, and Hermione had worn Snape’s face for a mere five hours, only forty moments longer than her second batch. It was better than she’d ever managed in school, but not the 10-12 hours she hoped for.

“Of course,” Hermione said, fighting not to roll her eyes as she would have when she was in school. She knew it was magic that created potions. They covered that in her second year. Unlike most of her class, she was paying attention.

“No, not ‘of course,’” Snape snapped, his eyes boring into hers as he leaned across the table. “A muggle, given all the same ingredients and technique, would brew only poisonous sludge. Our magic and intention create the potion. Focus. Feel the magic you are channeling into the potion. Do it again. This time, feel for the places where the magic and instructions are telling you different things. Follow the magic.”

 

It took four tries and nearly three weeks before Hermione could get the potion to last nine hours, and each time that she added a half stir, or a little more of an ingredient that the recipe called for, she felt transgressive, but right. She found herself grinning at Snape as she added a counter-clockwise quarter turn, and to her surprise, he grinned back. She looked down and blushed, surprised that she still felt an emotional pull to this man.

 

A few weeks later, Hermione curled up in a deep leather chair by the fire, reading her assigned book on potion theory for the evening. She could feel Snape’s eyes on her, but had become used to ignoring the feeling.

“Do not throw the book into the fire,” Snape snapped.

Hermione looked up, confused. Snape sat on the sofa, his legs propped up on an ottoman. He wore a pair of specs low on his nose as he ostensibly read a leather-bound tome, a tumbler of whiskey next to him on a low table.

He raised an eyebrow at her, wry amusement warming his tone. “You look murderous. I haven’t seen that level of rage-laced disappointment since you were last partnered with Weasley in your sixth year.”

“Aren’t you droll,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Lovingood writes so well, and he’s so convincing, but I completely disagree with him. There’s no way the core of a wand can have any direct impact on a potion. It’s absurd. It’s not as though a wizard could just swap wands, and Lovingood is studiously avoiding the painfully obvious point. And his ego! It’s like Lockhart does potions!”

“Have you read the Blackstone material yet?”

Hermione shoved a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “No.”

“Give him a go if you’re getting frustrated. Writing style is terrible,” Snape curled his lip in remembrance, “but his ideas on auxiliary materials are cohesive. Certainly more so that blithering idiot Lovingood. Longbottom could do better.”

Snape frowned, looking into the fire for a long moment. Hermione watched him over the top of her tome, her brow furrowing to match his expression.

“What?” She asked at last.

“Nothing. I’m going to bed. Don’t read too late.” Snape abruptly set down his book and went up the stairs, leaving a bewildered Hermione staring at his back. 

 

“I read Blackstone,” Hermione said as she poured cream into her porridge. She added a healthy spoonful of brown sugar. She wasn’t quite back to her starting weight, but she was getting closer every day.

“And?” Snape asked, setting down his tea.

“I fell asleep twice. You weren’t wrong about the writing style. I think he’s closer to correct than the Idiot.”

“Lovingood?”

“Hm,” Hermione said, agreeing around a mouthful of porridge. “We know different cauldrons and stirring rods affect potions. It makes more sense to me that a wizard’s magic as channelled through a rod would react differently to different materials, just as it would a wand. Certainly it makes more sense than actually using various wands when casting over different potions.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s a pity the man is damn near incomprehensible.”

“I believe he fears that if he were to write more clearly, he might actually be understood.

“Hermione—“ Snape started. He broke off, looking out the window where the snow had melted and flowers were starting to bloom wild on the hillside. “It’s been six months.”

“Today, yes, I know.”

“Have you come to a decision?”

Hermione examined Severus’ face, watching his expression. His back was stiff. In his soft black sweater and grey trousers, he looked more relaxed than he ever had at Hogwarts, but his expression was all spy, closed off and unreadable.

“Answer a question for me honestly. You watch me all the time. All the time. Why?”

“You are marginally more interesting that the walls or ceiling.” He met her narrowed eyes briefly and then looked away. “You know the reason.”

“I don’t.” Hermione said. “If I did, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Severus took a deep breath and let it out, his gaze again finding Hermione’s, “I am not ready to answer that question.”

“I see.”

“That does not mean that I want you to leave. On the contrary.”

She waited for him to say that he wanted her to stay, but from Professor Severus Snape, that was likely hoping for too much.

Disappointed, she looked down at her porridge. “I will stay. We will each continue our check-ins with Minerva regarding my progress and well-being. And I will get every Sunday afternoon off.”

“You may have all of Sunday off, but see that you use the time for your meetings with Minerva.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note-- this chapter has explicit content! Don't read it you're not into it.

“Scotch, please,” Hermione said, glancing at Minerva’s sideboard. She sat in the headmistress’ office, and gave a weak smile to the portrait of Professor Dumbledore.

“Rough week?” Minerva asked, pouring them both a measure.

“Not more than usual, I suppose,” Hermione said, accepting her glass. The walk up from the gates had reminded her how brutally cold Scotland was in the winter, and she welcomed the burn of the liquid as her first sip scorched down her throat and into her stomach.

Setting the cup on the desk, she slumped back into her chair, using the motion to shuck off her heavy coat. “I’m nearly done with my apprenticeship and there’s no progress.” She resumed her glass.

Minerva sat at her desk, hiding a small smile behind her tumbler. “Academically, Severus assures me that is not the case. He tells me you’re a more than adequate student. High praise indeed from that one.”

Hermione allowed herself a small smile of pride. He almost never praised her, falling back on lifelong teaching habits. Most of her work meant with little better than an curt nod. She knew she was performing well, but hearing that he had told someone as much made her stomach flutter with pleasure.

“You know what I mean,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.

“He fails to openly acknowledge his affection or yours, but the sexual tension is so think you could cut it with spoon?”

Minerva surveyed her student, noting the blush, and the healthy curves Hermione had put on in the last couple years. Oh, her figure was still trim, but she had been too thin when she started her apprenticeship, to say nothing of her near starvation. She’d rounded in appropriate places with womanhood and regular meals. In her years under Severus, she had learned better potions to care for her curly hair, and wore it back today in a rather attractive loose braid. She still wore no makeup, but nor did Minerva see much need for any. Hermione had grown into a beautiful woman.

Hermione open and then shut her mouth at the image. “Er- Yes.”

“My dear, why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Hermione took a much deeper sip of her scotch. Then she took another. “I don’t know his reasons for waiting. Or if he even truly wants me. What if he’s managing his attraction but believes a relationship would be a poor idea, and is counting down the days until I earn my degree?”

Minerva peered at Hermione over her glasses. “Tell me, do you honestly believe that?”

“Could I have another?” Hermione asked, holding up her empty glass.

Minerva got up to get her student more, glaring at the girl as she poured.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “No. I don’t believe that.”

“So the question is, what is holding you back?”

Hermione closed her eyes for a long second, mustering her thoughts. “The first time, it was me. I wanted him, and I pursued him. And I got him, but only for a night. Then he pulled back and it was as though nothing happened. What if I pursue him again, and the same happens?”

“Don’t be daft,” Minerva said. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Hermione looked away.

“Two years ago, he asked you to stay rather than allowing you to leave. He comes here every week to talk about your progress. I’ve known Severus Snape for nearly 30 years, from the time he was ten. Until those two years years ago when he told me you had chosen to stay, I had never seen him smile.”

“What if he’s happy the way things are, and by approaching, I ruin this?”

Minerva pursed her lips, and then took a sip of her whiskey. “Things are going to change, Hermione. Your apprenticeship is a few months from completion. In August, you will be moving into the castle. Severus is a very brave man who has been hiding behind his role as your Potions Master for a very long time, and if you allow him to keep hiding, he may never stop.”

“He is more at ease… but it’s as though we can only get so close, enjoy a conversation so much, and then he walks away.”

“I don’t care for breaking confidences, but this time I will make an exception.” Minerva looked past Hermione’s shoulder. “Albus, do stop twinkling.

“Hermione, would it change anything if I told you that Severus has asked me the very same questions? He wants this. And he is afraid.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she looked at her mentor. Minerva gave a very slight nod.

 

Hermione returned to the cottage, her feet feeling lighter than air, her heart so full she could barely breathe. She wasn’t surprised to find Severus in the kitchen. His love for cooking had come to the fore, and he often spent more time in his kitchen than over a cauldron, leaving her to fill his potions orders as part of her work as an apprentice. Thus far, no one had complained of a difference in quality.

A smile bloomed on her face at the image Severus made standing over the stove, the black and white striped apron she’d given him on Christmas tied neatly around his waist. “What’s for supper?” She asked.

“Honey salmon, green beans, and baked sweet potatoes.”

“Still on your healthy kick?” Hermione asked, entering the kitchen and peeking at the stove where Severus was sautéing green beans.

“I made a pear torte for dessert,” Severus commented, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

“Thank Merlin! I thought you were trying to starve me again!”

Severus’s face fell, “Hermione-“

She reached out and touched his arm, “A joke. Just a joke.”

He smiled slightly but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.

She slid her hand down his arm and took his free hand. It was more physical than they’d shared since that night in the bubble universe. “Hey, I was teasing. I know you wouldn’t. I love your cooking. I especially love your pear torte.”

“My torte is exceptional,” Severus agreed softly, his eyes fixed on their joined hands.

A buzzer went off, and Severus jumped back, pulling his hand free. Hermione tried not to curse out loud.

“Salmon needs to come out of the oven,” he said, his voice almost apologetic.

“I’ll go change for dinner,” Hermione said. She hoped that Severus wouldn’t comment on the fact that she almost never bothered to change for dinner.

She dashed up the stairs and into her bedroom, stripping off her bulky sweater before she even fully closed the door. She’s adopted bulky sweaters and leggings as her primary wardrobe after her injury and had never switched back. But tonight, now that she knew he might reciprocate her feelings, that was going to change. Severus noticed her, wanted her, and she wanted to give him a little extra fantasy fodder.

Opening her closet, Hermione frowned. She didn’t have many shirts that showed off her curves. Going out on the town had never been her thing, even before her apprenticeship. Still, she had gone shopping with Ginny a few months ago, and somewhere in there had to be the ridiculous shirt Ginny had made her buy. She flipped though the hangers, and found the hunter green tunic behind one of her red knits. It was tight through the breast and stomach, and flared at her hips, perfect to go over her leggings. She’d need to mail out of a few more.

She tried it on, relieved it still fit and looked good over the pounds she put on. She certainly managed to fill the bust out better. She bent and grabbed the package she’d hidden at the bottom of her closet. She opened the book, wrote a quick note, and cheated, using magic to rewrap the present.

Hermione headed downstairs to find the table set and supper waiting for her. Severus stood from where he was placing the wine glasses on the table and his face went stony. Spy Face, as Hermione referred to it. It was the face he used when he didn’t want her aware of his reaction.

“Dinner looks great,” Hermione said with a smile as she hid his gift behind her back.

“Indeed.” Severus walked around the table and pulled out Hermione’s chair. She blushed at the new gesture.

She let him seat her before he took his own seat. It was then that Hermione noticed the candle sticks on the table, which Severus lit with a with a wave of his hand, demonstrating incredible control with windless magic. 

“What’s this?” Hermione asked, looking at the candles. She wondered precisely when Severus had his conversation with Minerva.

“I thought perhaps we might have a nicer dinner tonight.”

“Oh, and what’s the occasion?” Hermione asked, teasing, as Severus, former spy, had almost certainly seen the gift in her hand.

He simply smiled in response. “Will you be patient this year? Or make your usual demand?”

Hermione slid the gift across the table. As he carefully untied the bow, Hermione poured them each a rather generous glass of wine.

“What is this, Hermione?” Severus said, examining the volume he held.

“I wrote an essay last year eviscerating Lovingood, citing Blackstone and others, and some of my own research. I submitted it for publication last spring. This is an advance copy.”

“You didn’t tell me about this.”

Hermione tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Open it.”

The dedication was simple, “For Severus.” In her own hand just below the dedication Hermione had added a post script. She watched Severus read the words.

He looked back up at her, his eyes black. “Do you mean it?” He asked.

“Of course.”

Severus stood abruptly and pushed back his chair. He walked around the table to her and pulled her to his feet. “Do you mean it?” He asked again, his face inches from hers.

“Yes,” Hermione said, meeting his eyes.

Then his lips were on hers, her body pulled tightly against his. He tasted of honey and balsamic dressing and Hermione didn’t care. Her body was on fire from her lips to her groin and she wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms forever.

His kiss was crushing, demanding. His hands were splayed across her back, holding her firmly in place. She twined her fingers in his hair, pulling him close.

After a long moment, Severus pulled back. He opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione pulled him back down.

“Dinner?” He gasped, pulling away again.

“Later,” Hermione answered, her fingers finding the hem of his jumper and seeking the skin underneath. He groaned in pleasure when she touched him, and scooped her into his arms.

 

They ended up in Hermione’s bedroom, as it was closer and neither had the patience to make it down the hall. Their pace was frantic, skin and tongues and strokes. Severus had lost his shirt before they made it up the stairs, and Hermione’s had suffered a similar fate. He stretched out next to her in the bed, his body half on top of hers as he worshipped her with his mouth. He kissed her lips, her face, her neck, and nipped at her shoulder.

“I didn’t know you owned a lacy bra,” Severus murmured into her breasts.

“Aspirational purchase.”

“If I’d known, this would have happened much sooner.” He lowered the straps and lifted one ripe breast. It fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. He met her eyes and lifted an eyebrow in silent request. At Hermione’s nod, he took her nipple into his mouth, tasting the pink bud. Her soft moan was guidance enough, and Severus repeated the action on her other side.

Her bra met the floor, followed quickly by her leggings and Severus’s pants. The light was low in Hermione’s room, as neither had bothered to light the candles. They explored each other with their hands and mouths. Severus’s deft fingers found every spot that made Hermione’s heart rate jump, and he followed each delicious gasp and moan with his tongue.

Both naked at last, Severus kissed his way down Hermione’s body. She grabbed the blanket and cursed when his tongue licked her slit.

“Like that?”

“Years of fantasy coming to fruition.”

“Glad to oblige.”

“Talk less. Better things to do with your tongue.” Hermione gasped again when he made good on her order, applying his tongue diligently to her clit while he slid one of those long beautiful fingers in her, slowly, slowly stretching her before adding a second finger. He curled them slightly and Hermione bowed off the bed. Severus increased his pace, matching thrusts and licks, keeping tempo with her curses until he felt the muscle around him tighten and shudder with her orgasm.

“I want you inside of me,” Hermione ordered when she could breathe again.

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Severus asked with a smirk.

“Why should I be any different in the bedroom?”

“Touche.”

Severus sat back on his heels, surveying the gloriously naked witch stretched out in front of him, and then paused. “Are you on a contraceptive potion?”

Hermione barely managed not to roll her eyes. “Of course. You’re there when I brew it every month.”

Severus nodded - he had seen her monthly brew, but still felt it best to ask - and positioned himself.

He lifted Hermione’s hips, sliding a pillow under her to ensure the right angle and slid in, grabbing hips again for leverage. She was tight. So incredibly hot and tight, and licking her before had left him perilously close to the edge. He moved slowly, deliberately, hoping that the controlled motions would give him time to bring her back to the edge before his balls exploded. He brushed his thumb over her clit and she mewed in pleasure.

He continued, building the rhythm until Hermione cried out her pleasure and he allowed himself to follow her over the edge.

 

Hermione woke up to the feeling of a hand gently stroking her spine. She opened her eyes and found black eyes staring at her, a slightly oversized nose only inches from her own.

“You’re still here?” Hermione asked.

“You’re surprised?”

“Adjusting my expectations. This didn’t go so well last time.”

“Keep adjusting. I would very much like to make waking up next to you a regular occurrence.”

Hermione laughed. “Severus Snape, that almost sounded romantic.”

“Miracles do happen,” he said.

Hermione leaned in for a kiss only to be stopped by the loud gurgle of her stomach. She looked down toward the offending organ and then back up. “We missed dinner.”

“So I see. By all means, let us rectify the situation.”

 

The meal had ended, and Hermione sat next to Severus on the sofa eating her second slice of dessert. “I really love your pear tart,” she sighed.

Severus curled a lock of Hermione’s hair around one finger and tugged gently.

“I could give you the recipe.”

“No, I much prefer it when you make it for me.”

Severus smiled and captured Hermione’s sweet lips, still euphoric that he could do so. Without breaking the kiss, he took the plate from her hand and set it on the coffee table beside them and then pulled Hermione into his lap.

“You are assuming I’ll be there to make it for you,” Severus said some time later.

He watched panic flash in Hermione’s eyes and quickly kissed her again. “That’s good,” He added when he pulled away.

“Fucking Slytherins,” Hermione said, waking him on the arm none to gently.

“Yes, that is what you were doing. I do hope you’ll resume the exercise soon.”

Instead, Hermione sat back and looked at Severus, her whiskey eyes meeting his black ones. “This is a thing?”

“This?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Us. Don’t play thick. You know precisely how I feel.”

“Yes. I— yes. I went to Hogwarts this morning and arranged for Horace to administer your testing so there is no appearance of bias or impropriety. And Minerva confirmed that the Defense Against the Darks Arts position is available. It seems that Potions has already been promised elsewhere.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing and am not making any money off this story- all characters belong to J. K. Rowling.  
> This is not beta read, and I wrote it late at night, so please forgive typos.  
> This chapter has mature content.  
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos!

“You’re practically bouncing. Stop.”

“No.”

Severus looked at the witch next to him, her curly hair practically vibrating as she watched the doors of the great hall. He felt nothing more than vague annoyance and perhaps a hint of trepidation, but clearly Hermione felt different about the start of another school year. 

He leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. “Three hours. That is how long it will take for the sorting ceremony, dinner, and getting the students in their tower and quiet. When you get back to the room, I intend to to fuck you until you come screaming my name.” 

“Promises, promises,” Hermione whispered back. Her hand found his, squeezing. He expected her to drop it, but she held fast, claiming him as hers. 

He reluctantly pulled away when the doors opened and the older students filed in. There was a rush of whispers, not as loud or shocked as the year prior, but present nonetheless, as they spotted Hermione and Severus. Their celebrity status as war heroes only bolstered the speculation about their relationship. When rumors had spread last year, Hermione had managed to catch both Rita Skeeter and an odious Colin Creevey in their rooms, the latter of whom had learned to turn into a mouse in his years since Hogwarts. Hermione had an uncanny nose for such creatures. 

She kept Colin in a jar for a week. Severus was still not sure quite what she did to Rita, save that he never saw a peep about their relationship in the paper. 

“I do not understand how you are so excited about teaching morons not to kill themselves with explosive ingredients.”

“You have to agree, I have a rather twisted sense of pleasure.”

He raised one eyebrow, his voice warming, “Promises, promises.”

 

Hours later, Hermione stood in front of a portrait of a lovely Renaissance maiden with flowers in her hair. “Portestas,” Hermione told the woman. She smiled her soft smile, and the portrait swung aside. 

“We’d like privacy, please, Meave,” Hermione told the portrait before she entered. “Let the Head Boy and Girl cover things tonight unless it’s an emergency.”

“Aye, Lady,” Meave agreed in her soft Irish tones. 

Hermione stepped into her rooms, and pulled off her robes, hanging them neatly on a hook by the door. She wore her usual jumper and leggings beneath. She looked around at the rooms she shared with Severus and sighed. After a full year of give and take, the small apartment they shared at the base of Gryffindor tower finally felt like home. They’d compromised on coastal blues and whites, with shades of green and red occasionally cropping up for a pop of color. The result was a restful space, a far cry from Severus’s dungeons, but not quite the seaside cottage where they shared her apprenticeship, nor Hermione’s softly golden apartment from her years alone. 

“Whiskey, wine, or tea?” Severus asked from the kitchen.

“Wine please. The Bordeaux?” Hermione curled up on their cozy sofa. Even in early September, the evenings here were cool, so Hermione cast a fire in the fireplace.  
“So they were trying, but not hellions?” 

“Precisely. I’m almost certain none will do anything intolerably stupid before dawn.”

Severus handed her a large glass of deep red wine, and set a plate of homemade biscotti on the table in front of them.“From your lips to Merlin’s ears.”

Hermione snuggled into Severus’s side, scooting closer until he obligingly lifted his arm to make space, and took a large sip of her drink. “One of them actually asked me if I’m with you. I think it’s the first time anyone has directly asked.”

“What did you say?”

“I said yes.”

Severus scowled. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. Unless you’re harboring some serious issues that I don’t know about, our relationship status isn’t going to change anytime soon. We may as well bite the bullet, deal with it, and let the world move on.”

Severus closed his eyes and withdrew his arm from around Hermione to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he stood and poured himself a whiskey. “You might have mentioned your plan to me first,” he said from the sidebar. 

“That would have required having a plan,” Hermione said, her voice prim. 

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t considered this from every angle? Every possible way we might have been exposed? You don’t have interview questions drafted for Ms. Lovegood and her insane rag?”

“The Quibbler is as unbiased a newspaper as exists in the Wizarding world-“

“That is not a denial.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “No, it is not.”

“So you planned to expose us on purpose and chose to do so without consulting me.”

Hermione set her glass of wine on the table. Severus was standing, and she didn’t like to be at a disadvantage. “Not quite. I had come to the conclusion that it would be better to be exposed now, soon, rather than letting it drag on and continue the ridiculous charade of maintaining separate quarters and clandestinely sneaking into each other’s rooms like school children. And Minerva told me this afternoon that the Marauders’ Map is once again at large. I did not expect to spill the beans this evening, but an opportunity presented itself.” 

Hermione crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Severus. She rested her head against his chest, and she was grateful that he didn’t push her away. “I am tired of sneaking and hiding. It cheapens this.”

Severus was quiet for a long moment, and Hermione could sense his inner struggle from the stiffness of his arms, the rigidity of his posture. 

“What is ’this’ precisely,” Serves asked after a long moment. 

“I’m in love with you, Severus.”

“Is that enough for you?” He asked, his voice taking on a bite she hadn’t heard in years. 

Hermione stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, and looked up into hard, black eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not the one who has a problem here.”

“Really?” A single, cold word. 

Hermione studied his face for a long moment before realization dawned. “You think I did this to manipulate you in some way?” She scoffed. “Telling people about us would be a terrible means of manipulating you. I know you’re a deeply private person and my hope was to rip off a bandaid- one and done, and let the world move on. Let us become old news rather than a continual font of gossip every time a student catches us speaking to each other. 

“I don’t expect you to be happy, and I certainly don’t expect you declare yourself. But I do think it’s fair to say I’m with you.”

They both stood in silence a long moment, then Hermione’s shoulders slumped, and she turned and returned to the couch, taking up her wine and cupping it in both hands. She stared into the cup, mustering courage, and then looked up at Severus. “I’m sorry I made the decision without you. It was rash and inconsiderate. I saw an opportunity and took it, but I should not have done so.” She took a long sip, giving him a chance to fill the silence. 

When he didn’t she said, “I won’t blame you if you choose to return to your quarters.” He ostensibly maintained rooms in the staff wing, though he had never actually spent the night in them. While his belongings were here in her apartments, his rooms did have a bed, couch, and ensuite. 

Hermione waited, more than half expecting him to leave. He was right, of course. She’d made a very important choice, one that would affect both their lives, in an impulsive moment. She did have a plan. She had made lists. And she hadn’t consulted him, fearing he would think that she was getting ahead of things, or worse, that he would say no, and she hated sneaking around so much. When Minerva had told her about the Marauders’ Map, she’d known the time of secrecy and sneaking was nearly at a close… but she still should have had the conversation with Severus.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said again, meeting Severus’ eyes.

“I love you,” Severus said, the words quiet, almost hoarse. He swallowed hard. 

Hermione blinked. “You don’t have to-“

“I love you,” Severus repeated. 

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Severus crossed the room to Hermione and knelt down in front of her. He took the wine glass from her hands and set it on the table. “Have I ever told you how my parents fought?”

“No?” Hermione asked, bewildered by this new turn, even as her heart was frantically beating at the pure bliss of finally hearing those words. She had adjusted to reading other signs- his touch, his smile, a lingering gaze- all the other ways he told her how he felt. She has given up hope of hearing the words, and her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“There was screaming, and usually blood, and they ostensibly loved each other,” Severus said, his eyes frank and clear as they met hers.

“Oh.”

“Love… love has not gone well for me,” He blinked and looked away, and Hermione could only assume he was thinking of Lily and what Harry had shared with her of Severus’ Pensieve.  
“I have loved you for a very very long time. Ten years, nearly. I have tried very hard to fight it, to hide and ignore it. All I could think tonight was as you addressed me with clear logic and a sincere apology was, ‘here’s your chance to run away and pretend, one last chance.’ And the thought was excruciating. I couldn’t. I won’t. I love you.”

Hermione gave in to impulse and wrapped her arms around Severus, kissing him thoroughly. He matched her passion with his own, meeting her lips for lips and tongue for tongue. Hermione’s questing fingers lifted his jumper and discarded the offending garment somewhere near the kitchen. His shirt followed. Hermione found her own jumper under the coffee table the next morning. 

Severus stood, and Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom and laid her across the bed.  
He looked at her, his eyes dwelling on the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts before meeting her eyes. “You are magnificent. Especially when you blush like that. Very becoming.”

“Thank you, but I’d prefer to be coming.”

“Minx.”

“Absolutely.”

Severus kicked off his pants and crawled up the bed. He ran a hand over Hermione’s smooth stomach, trailing lower until his finger was poised at her entrance. He claimed her mouth as he slid first one, then a second finger inside her. His thumb lazily circled her clit. He captured each moan with his lips as his witch writhed beneath him. 

“I love you,” Severus whispered into Hermione’s ear. 

“Say it again,” she begged. 

“I love you.” He felt her muscles clamp around his fingers with her first orgasm. He withdrew and she whimpered until Severus shifted and she felt his penis sliding home. 

He tried to maintain a slow pace, prolonging their pleasure, but Hermione met him thrust for thrust, riding him from below, encouraging him to lose control with her demands. He grabbed her hips and flipped them, so that she was on top, riding him to her pleasure. She ran her hands all over his body as she rose and fell, rose and fell, grinding her hips against him until he couldn’t see anything, sense anything but Hermione. He found her clit, rubbing her in time with her rhythm, until at last she threw her head back in silent pleasure as her orgasm took her. The sensation of her body on his sent Severus spiraling with her. 

 

“I love you,” Hermione said, snuggling into his side. She nuzzled his neck in pleasure before settling her head on to his shoulder. “Have you forgiven me, or is the jury still out?”

“I am not happy with you, but I may yet see it in my heart to forgive you,” Severus replied, his tone teasing. 

“I can live with that.”

Severus kissed Hermione’s hair and said, “Me too.”


End file.
